


Through the Years

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 04:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Five years. Five Valentine's Days. And whole lotta love.





	Through the Years

**Author's Note:**

> Happy early Valentine's Day!
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

**February 14, 2015  
**

“What’re you doing up this early?” Bossuet asked, tipping his head back automatically for Joly to drop a kiss on his lips as he darted around the kitchen looking harried.

“I’ve got pre-rounds at the hospital in half an hour,” Joly told him, pouring coffee into a travel mug. “Did you forget to go to bed last night?”

Bossuet sighed, glancing back down at the newspaper. “Accidentally set my alarm for 4:30 instead of 8:30,” he said mournfully. “Hey, do you remember what show won the 2014 Tony?”

Joly blinked. “Are you trying to do the crossword again?”

“Trying but not succeeding,” Bossuet sighed.

Joly laughed and kissed the top of his head before peering over his shoulder. “11 down is ‘Ali’.”

“Hm?”

“Aladdin Prince, three letters,” Joly said, pointing at the column in question. “It’s Ali.”

Bossuet scowled and batted his hand away. “Ok but I would’ve gotten that one on my own, thanks.”

Joly laughed but before he could respond, a slightly frantic knock sounded on their door, and he sighed and gave Bossuet a look. “I do not have time to deal with Grantaire this morning.”

“I’ll deal with it,” Bossuet assured him, standing and heading to the door while Joly disappeared back into the bedroom to grab his bag. Bossuet took a deep, steadying breath before forcing a smile and opening the door. “Good morning, R,” he said.

Grantaire brushed past him, his eyes wild, his hair completely disheveled. “I am so fucked,” he announced hoarsely.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” Bossuet assured him without anything even approximating sincerity, skirting past Grantaire to make his way over to the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

“I’d prefer something stronger,” Grantaire muttered.

Bossuet gave him a look. “You drank all our whiskey the last time you had an early morning crisis.”

Grantaire scowled. “And you didn’t go to the liquor store in the interim?”

“Nor apparently did you, so—”

Grantaire almost smiled. “Touché.”

Before he could say anything else, Joly rushed out of the bedroom. “Hey, R,” he said as he darted past him and kissed Bossuet on the cheek. “Love you, see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you too!” Bossuet called after him before turning back to Grantaire, who looked disgruntled. “He’s got pre-rounds.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, that’s—I mean, yeah, I know Joly’s busy, but, like…” He trailed off before shaking his head again, somewhat incredulously. “You know what day it is, right?”

“Uh — Saturday?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Grantaire informed him, still looking a little miffed as he accepted a mug of coffee from Bossuet. “And I was missing a little bit of the expected nauseatingly perfect romance between you and darling Jolllly.”

Bossuet laughed. “Romance,” he practically chortled. “Joly and I have been together for, what, five years now, and you think we still care about romance?” He shook his head. “We’ll celebrate Valentine’s Day when we get a joint day off, and in the meantime, what we have is better than that shit.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Better than that shit,” he repeated. “I guess romance really is dead.”

Bossuet gave him a look. “Anyway,” he said deliberately, “what crisis brought you here at ass o’clock in the morning?”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared, replaced by something approaching panic. “It’s — it’s just, like, hilariously bad timing,” he muttered, slumping down at the table. “Like, worthy of your luck kind of bad timing.”

Bossuet sat down across from him. “Bad timing?” he repeated. “For you and I assume Enjolras?”

“Am I that obvious?” Grantaire asked, and when Bossuet remained tactfully silent, he sighed. “Yeah, ok, I’m that obvious.” He sighed again and scrubbed a hand across his face before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Look, this has to stay between us, alright?”

“Between us includes Joly, right?” Bossuet asked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you, me, Joly, and no one else, ok? I mean it.”

“Shall I cross my heart and hope to die?” Bossuet quipped, but when Grantaire didn’t so much as smile, his own smile faded. “Grantaire, what’s going on?”

Grantaire drained his mug of coffee in one big gulp before managing, “Enjolras and I…” He trailed off, but Bossuet didn’t press, and after a long moment, Grantaire cleared his throat before continuing, somewhat reluctantly, “Enjolras and I were at the Musain late last night and we were talking—”

“Arguing,” Bossuet interrupted and Grantaire half-smiled.

“—and, y’know, it got late and one thing led to another and, uh…” He again trailed off and took a deep breath before blurting all in one rapid go, “He-invited-me-back-to-his-place-and-we-had-sex.”

Bossuet choked on his sip of coffee, but for some reason, his resulting cough sounded an awful lot like ‘finally’. “Well, that’s, uh…” He trailed off as if searching for the right word but seemed to give up on that plan, settling instead for asking, somewhat delicately, “So what are you freaking out about?”

Grantaire stared at him. “We had sex,” he repeated slowly, as if he thought Bossuet hadn’t quite grasped it. “Enjolras. And me. On the night before Valentine’s Day.” He made a face. “And then, technically, again on Valentine’s Day.”

“Ah.” Bossuet took a sip of coffee before asking cautiously, “So are you more freaked out by the fact that you had sex and you don’t know what it means, or that you had sex on Valentine’s Day and you don’t know what that means?”

“I...we…Both?” Grantaire’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “We just, uh, we didn’t, y’know, talk. About. Stuff.”

“Well with eloquence like that, I can see why.”

Grantaire glared at him. “I come to you in my time of need and _this_ is how you treat me?”

Bossuet shrugged. “You’re always welcome to find someone else who will let you into their apartment at 5 in the morning and give you coffee and listen to you rant.”

Though Grantaire’s glare didn’t waver, he still managed a seething, “Fair point,” before dropping his head into his hands and practically wailing in a muffled voice, “What does it _mean_?”

Bossuet patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “Well, I think the sex probably speaks for itself. After all, you two have been sickeningly into each other for years now, even if you’re both too stubborn to actually admit it. As for Valentine’s Day—” He hesitated. “I mean, it’s _Enjolras_. Love him though I do — though certainly not like you — I cannot imagine that he would care about a capitalist non-holiday, and I almost guarantee that he was not thinking about it when he asked you back to his.”

“So it didn’t mean anything to him?”

Grantaire’s voice was high-pitched and miserable, and Bossuet sighed. “You slept together for the first time so I doubt it doesn’t mean _anything_. Just — I also doubt it means anything more to him than it would on any other day of the year.” He paused. “Besides, like, Bastille Day. Maybe.”

Grantaire peeked through his fingers as he asked despairingly, “And what if I want it to mean more?”

Bossuet stared at him. “Do you?” he asked doubtfully.

Grantaire slowly lowered his hands from his face as he shrugged, looking almost embarrassed at what he had admitted. “I mean...it’s Enjolras,” he hedged, as if it was an answer to the question. “And it’s Valentine’s Day. Put the two together and it’s almost enough to make me a believer.”

“Key word there being almost,” Bossuet muttered. He shook his head slowly. “Well, look, first and foremost, you should probably be having this conversation with Enjolras, not with me.” Grantaire let out a wounded noise at the thought, which Bossuet ignored. “And secondly, since it is Valentine’s Day...seems like a pretty good time to tell him that you want this to mean more.”

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “Can’t I just sleep with him again?”

“You can. And I’m pretty sure you’re gonna, regardless of what I say. But if five years of nauseatingly perfect romance — your words, not mine — have taught me anything, you’re still gonna have to talk eventually.”

Bossuet finished his coffee while Grantaire stewed in silence. Eventually, Grantaire sighed. “Fine,” he said, drawing the single syllable out as if it pained him. “I will talk to him. Or something. Though I can’t guarantee I won’t sleep with him again first.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Bossuet said solemnly, though he couldn’t quite stop his grin. “And Grantaire — I’m really happy for you.”

“Hold that thought until after I talk to him,” Grantaire grumbled, though he knocked into Bossuet with something like affection as he stood. “Thanks for everything, blah blah blah, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“What, are you going now?” Bossuet asked, startled. “It’s not six o’clock in the morning yet.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah, I figure if I hurry, I can probably get back to Enjolras’s before he wakes up.”

Bossuet stared at him. “He wasn’t even awake when you left?!”

Grantaire looked smug. “What can I say, I wore him out,” he said with a smirk, and Bossuet rolled his eyes. “But seriously, he sleeps like the dead. It would take a nuclear explosion to wake him up.” He paused. “Or Courfeyrac. Moral of the story, he probably won’t even notice I was gone. And hell, I may even get another couple hours of sleep, since I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Again Bossuet rolled his eyes. “Because of all the sex?” he asked dryly.

“No. Because Enjolras snores.”

Grantaire kissed the top of Bossuet’s bald head. “Thanks for everything,” he repeated, and Bossuet squirmed away, laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, now get outta here,” he said. “Oh, and Grantaire?” Grantaire paused and glanced back at him. “Do you know what show won a 2014 Tony Award?”

“Just Google the answers to the crossword puzzle like everyone else,” Grantaire told him, smirking when Bossuet scowled at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Happy Valentine’s Day my ass,” Bossuet grumbled, turning back to the newspaper. He stared at the crossword puzzle for a moment before sighing and pulling out his phone.

But before going into Google, he opened his text messages first.

[To: Joly] _You’re not gonna believe that happened._

[To: Bossuet] _E and R?_

[To: Joly] _Got it in one._

[To: Bossuet] _F I N A L L Y_

* * *

 

**February 14, 2016**

Enjolras adjusted his cufflinks as he glanced around the crowded ballroom, relaxing when he saw Grantaire weaving through the crowd, a glass of champagne in one hand, a glass of some amber alcohol in the other. “Did you get the coat check squared away?” he asked as he reached Enjolras and handed the glass of champagne off.

“Yes, though I’m not entirely sure why the gentleman manning the coat check found my questions about how much he was being paid rude,” Enjolras said, taking a sip of champagne before pulling at his bowtie. “And I think he thought I was trying to get him to join a church instead of join a union.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Grantaire mumbled into his whiskey as he scanned the room. “So I assume we have to make the rounds at some point, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather have a drink or two in me first.” He glanced at Enjolras, half-smiling. “And I imagine you’d prefer me with a drink or two as well.”

Enjolras laughed lightly and shook his head. “You are one of the only people I know who can be significantly nicer when drunk than when sober.”

Grantaire leaned in and kissed his cheek. “That’s only because you haven’t spent enough time around drunk girls,” he said cheerfully. “Trust me, no one is as nice a drunk girl who senses any kind of kindred spirit.”

“Even Éponine?”

Grantaire considered it. “Ok, Ép may be the exception to that rule.”

Enjolras laughed again before giving Grantaire an appraising look. “I know I said it earlier, but you look really amazing tonight.”

“What, this old thing?” Grantaire said, aiming for nonchalance even as he preened slightly at the compliment. “What can I say, Bossuet accidentally buying our tuxes instead of renting them for Marius and Cosette’s wedding came in handy.” He gave Enjolras a once-over. “And you, of course, look positively sinful. I want to gag you with that red pocket square.”

Enjolras choked on an ill-timed sip of champagne. “Really?” he spluttered, as red as the pocket square in question. Grantaire just smirked and sipped his drink as Enjolras recovered, and when his blush had finally faded to something more like a light pink, Enjolras cleared his throat and looked back at Grantaire. “As much as it pains me to say this given, y’know, everything,” he said sourly, “thanks for coming with me.”

“Open bar,” Grantaire told him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I mean it,” he insisted. “After all, I know this probably wasn’t how you wanted to spend our first official Valentine’s Day together—”

“What, at a black tie political fundraiser on a Sunday evening?” Grantaire asked dryly.

Enjolras scowled. “It’s not political, it’s a fundraiser for heart disease research.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Ok, sure, and the fact that you and a bunch of other political junkies are attending a heart disease fundraiser within two weeks of Super Tuesday is a coincidence.”

Enjolras had the good grace to at least look slightly embarrassed. “It’s also American Heart Month,” he mumbled.

“And Black History Month but at least the NAACP had the good sense to hold their gala on a Saturday.” Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Grantaire drained his drink and grabbed his hand. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

“I don’t dance,” Enjolras protested, even as Grantaire pulled him over to the dance floor.

“And I don’t attend black tie functions, and yet here we both are,” Grantaire said blithely, smirking up at him.

Enjolras glanced down at him, letting Grantaire steer him around the dance floor. “I really do mean it,” he said after a long moment, and Grantaire gave him a questioning look. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “I meant it as well.”

“Meant what?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

 

**February 14, 2017**

Grantaire let himself into the apartment and Enjolras glanced up at him, waving a vague greeting without breaking his concentration on his phone call, his phone sandwiched between his shoulder and ear as he sorted through some papers on the coffee table. “And who did you say was organizing the rapid response to any future executive orders on immigration?” he asked, jotting something down. “And their spokesperson is still— yeah, perfect.”

He glanced up as Grantaire made his way into the kitchen, his brow furrowing as he watched Grantaire empty the bag of takeout he had. “No, count Les Amis in. We’ll organize something. I’ll be in touch later in the week with details.”

He tossed his phone down and rubbed his eyes before glancing at Grantaire again, something like wariness tightening his shoulders as he watched Grantaire all but slam the styrofoam takeout containers on the counter. “Everything ok?”

Grantaire didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

Enjolras sighed. “Obviously you’re not fine, he said, standing and crossing cautiously to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Grantaire turned to the photo calendar from Shutterfly that Courfeyrac had insisted on getting them for Christmas. “Dinner at 7pm at Osaka Sushi,” he read off before turning back to Enjolras, even if he still didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Ring any bells?”

Enjolras froze, and a quick glance at the clock on the oven confirmed that it was after 8. “Shit,” he breathed. “I am so sorry, I got wrapped in a call and I completely forgot—”

“No kidding,” Grantaire said, bracing himself against the kitchen counter. “Do you know how long I waited at the restaurant for you?”

“You should’ve called—”

“I did,” Grantaire said shortly. “Your phone was busy.”

He grabbed one of the styrofoam containers and a set of chopsticks before stalking out of the kitchen, Enjolras, trailing after him. “All this shit with Trump’s executive orders has really thrown everything off,” Enjolras offered, like a an explanation or an excuse. “And I know that doesn’t make getting stood up any better—”

“Stood up on Valentine’s Day,” Grantaire interrupted.

Enjolras winced. “Right. I—”

“Forgot?” Grantaire finished for him. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out for myself.” He shook his head, sitting down on the couch and staring at the papers strewn across the coffee table still. “You know what the worst part is? It’s not that it’s Valentine’s Day. It’s not even that it’s our anniversary, since I imagine you forgot that as well. It’s that you didn’t even think to call or text when I wasn’t home at the usual time.” He shook his head. “I ranked so low on your list of priorities that you didn’t even notice that I spent the last hour sitting by myself at a restaurant, waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras repeated quietly, hovering awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Are you?” Grantaire asked sharply, looking at him for the first time.

“Of course I am,” Enjolras said, his brow furrowing, defensive despite himself. “It’s not like this was intentional.”

Grantaire barked a humorless laugh. “Of course it wasn’t. Intention would require you to think about me.”

Enjolras inhaled sharply. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t think you get to decide what’s fair here—”

“I think about you more than I’ve ever thought about another person,” Enjolras told him, no small amount of heat in his voice. “Because I love you. But loving you doesn’t change the fact that my job, my _life_ can be erratic depending on what’s going on in the world. You knew that going into this two years ago.”

Grantaire set the unopened styrofoam container on the coffee table and stood. “You’re right,” he said hollowly. “I did know. So I guess this, like everything, is my fault.”

Enjolras sighed. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, but Grantaire just shook his head.

“I don’t particularly feel like doing this right now,” he said tiredly. “So I’m done.”

Enjolras stiffened. “What do you mean, done?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. “You mean, like—”

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “God, no, of course not. I just meant—” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m done with this argument and I’m going to go to bed.” Enjolras nodded jerkily and Grantaire’s expression softened, just slightly. “Hey,” he said softly, crossing over to him and grabbing both of his hands. “I love you. And we are probably never going to not fight about the Cause and your priorities, but that doesn’t mean that I’m willing to walk away from this. Not now, not ever. Ok?”

Enjolras nodded wordlessly and pulled Grantaire to him, wrapping him in a tight hug and resting his chin on top of Grantaire’s head. “I love you.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, his voice muffled against Enjolras’s chest. “I know.”

* * *

 

**February 14, 2018**

“This was nice,” Enjolras said, holding Grantaire’s hand as they walked home from the restaurant.

“It was,” Grantaire agreed. “Ethically sourced seafood, excellent wine, decent company…”

Enjolras made an affronted noise. “Decent?” he repeated. “When I didn’t check my phone once during dinner?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow and he quickly amended, “During the entree part of dinner at least?”

Grantaire just laughed, twisting his wrist to bring Enjolras’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “More than decent,” he allowed. “Especially considering the dessert waiting for me at home.”

“Oh?” Enjolras said. “Did you get something special for dessert?”

“I wouldn’t say special, but I would say one of my favorite things.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “So...dessert wine?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “You, you idiot.”

“Me?” Enjolras repeated. “What do you—” He broke off. “Oh. _Oh_. I like the sound of that.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes again. “God, you’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, even as he reached up to kiss Enjolras.

Enjolras hummed in agreement and was about to say something when he yawned widely. “Oh, man,” he said, blinking rapidly. “Food coma.”

“Food coma or string of early morning meetings?” Grantaire asked before he also yawned, his jaw cracking as he did. “God, getting older’s a bitch.”

“Glad I have something to look forward to,” Enjolras said, yawning again.

Grantaire poked him in the stomach. “Stop that,” he scolded, stifling a second yawn of his own. “We’ve got dessert waiting for us. And while it’s not exactly a requirement, I would prefer if you were awake for it.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras siad, “I’ll be more awake by the time we get home, I promise.”

“You better be,” Grantaire muttered before he yawned again.

But by the time they made it home, neither of them were particularly more awake than they had been, and Grantaire leaned against the wall of their apartment building as Enjolras fumbled with his keys. “I have a proposition,” he said.

“And what proposition is that?” Enjolras murmured tiredly before he found the right key and let them inside, all but collapsing on the couch and reaching automatically to pull Grantaire down with him.

Grantaire curled against Enjolras and yawned. “What if we have dessert for breakfast?”

Enjolras considered it. “Just so we’re clear, by dessert you mean sex, right?” Grantaire’s long-suffering sigh was the only answer, and Enjolras laughed lightly. “I think I’m supposed to meet Combeferre and Courfeyrac at 7 but I can text them and push it back to 8.”

“I know you’re an optimist but an hour seems a bit extreme even for you,” Grantaire mumbled.

Enjolras laughed again, but gentler this time, and he shifted to free an arm so that he could run his fingers through Grantaire’s dark curls. “You’re really fine with postponing until tomorrow?”

Grantaire shrugged. ‘Better to postpone than fall asleep with your dick in my mouth.”

“Vulgar,” Enjolras mumbled, his eyelids drooping and his hand moving slower and slower with each pass through Grantaire’s hair. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, so quietly that Enjolras could barely hear him. “Luckiest guy in the world.”

* * *

 

**February 14, 2019**

Grantaire perched on the edge of the table at the Musain, smiling slightly when Enjolras automatically shifted to lean against him. “Almost ready to go home?” he asked, carding his fingers through Enjolras’s hair.

“Just let me—” Enjolras typed a comment on the blog post he was editing before closing his laptop. “Done.”

Courfeyrac looked up at them as Enjolras stood and gathered his things together. “So what exciting V-Day plans do you two lovebirds have?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes at them both.

“We don’t,” Grantaire said simply, taking Enjolras’s bag from him so he could put his coat on.

“Well that’s not true,” Enjolras said. “Brooklyn Nine-Nine is new tonight.”

Grantaire grinned. “Excellent point. I almost forgot.” He leaned in and pressed a swift peck to the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “Now let’s go home.”

Enjolras grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together as they started toward the door. Courfeyrac stared after them, shaking his head slightly, and Combeferre glanced up at him. “What?” he asked.

“Is that what all of us have to look forward to?” Courfeyrac asked, slightly disgruntled, gesturing toward Enjolras and Grantaire. “Is that what love turns into?”

Combeferre just shrugged, looking back down at his laptop. “I certainly hope so.”

Courfeyrac frowned at him but didn’t say anything, just shaking his head as he looked critically back at Enjolras and Grantaire, watching as Grantaire lightly swatted Enjolras’s ass, and Enjolras elbowed him, laughing, before pulling him in and kissing him. “Yeah,” Courfeyrac said slowly, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I hope so, too.”


End file.
